I am weary of the tropics
yet I will never leave her
I am weary of the endless heat
the blood-red sunset
palms are like a maidens
hair blown by the breeze
the egret stalks its prey
like a pale ghost of death
cypress rise from dark water
I was born for this place
live oaks are a colonnade
to hold the blue dome of sky
I am weary of the tropics
yet I will never leave her
I have no other church
where I may rest my soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dew points have been in the upper 70s here for a while. If it's anything like that in the tropics, I don't know if the rest of the beauty can make up for it. : -)
I've gotten used to it. It does get a tad damp.